1: Serious about Siroc
by windwraith
Summary: Siroc doesn't speak of his past. He knows well that For a Slave of the Cardinal, Escape is not necessarily the same as Freedom no slash. Part One of the YB 'Unleashed Saga'
1. Chapter 1: Slave Reflections

Serious about Siroc

Serious about Siroc

Disclamer: All hail Dumas and his descendants.  
PAX young blades and the Disney version of 3 musketeers gave inspiration to this tale.

There is no money in it for me, just enjoyment – Something I hope to share.

--

-(Chapter one –Slave Reflections)-

Ramón prattled amiably as they rode along the Seine. The Q. de la Grève was beautiful this time of year. And the young poet was still energized from his afternoon in the salon at the Hotel de Ville. "Ah, if only i _mi familia_ /i could see how popular I am they would regret loosing me I am sure." He sighed lacing his gloved fingers behind his head and stretching, while guiding his horse only with his knees. "How about you my friend…I'm sure you didn't expect to become a musketeer… What would your family say?"

Siroc, never spoke of his past…He didn't even want to think about it. Eventually he hoped his companions would figure this out and stop trying to press him. They meant well, he knew, but in the great scheme of things it mattered little. The closest he'd ever come to explaining himself was to admit, "It's complicated." How could he tell anyone that for him life before the age of fifteen was a forgotten dream, and life after that an indelible nightmare? He didn't even know his true name. Images poured unbidden into his mind. Clouds covered the sun and he shivered at the sudden chill…

_i The boy fought …he knelt on cold stone, immobile. Hands bound tightly behind his back, he could not struggle. In fact, he could barely move. Still he fought with the only weapon left to him—his mind. The enemy was cunning and subtle, that much he knew. Else how was it that the boy had been taken so swiftly, spirited away from those who watched over him? Those whose duty it was to…What? Keep him where? The boy fought valiantly for answers, but the weapons of the enemy were many, and he was loosing ground at an alarming rate. Fatigue… hunger…darkness … fear -- the boy swayed on his knees pulling the chain collar taunt about his neck. _

"_No rest for you my pet – not yet." The words chilled him, and inwardly he cringed – but only for a moment. The flame of his spirit still burned bright. 'I will not succumb to the terror of this place!' The boy told himself, teeth gritted against the wooden bit in his mouth. "I will NOT show weakness." Determination flared in his breast._

_But how long could his resolve last? He'd been cut, beaten, doused with icy water, deprived of food and rest, accosted by sound, light and finally darkness. What new torment awaited him? The sharp pain in the side of his neck was just the beginning. Fire coursed through his veins and pain screamed behind his eyes as the reigns of his mind were yanked violently from his grasp. His world eclipsed in an unrelenting torrent of red. /i_

I mean really Siroc, you're a scholar…only a noble could dream of an education like yours…

"An education like mine," Siroc echoed in a thoughtful whisper.

Ramón continued uninterrupted, "Surely your family thought you'd be teaching at the university or enmeshed in politics…I'd wager they never imagined you'd make a living with a blade.

_i "Master please," the boy's voice croaked in a horse whisper. He barely recalled the last time the bit had been removed from his aching jaw – being able to speak freely felt…unnatural somehow. _

"_You think yourself ready?" the master asked, stalking, beast-like about the small study._

"_Test me, I pray you, my lord." The defiance was gone now and there was an earnestness to the boy's voice that hadn't been there…before his "training"._

_The Master stopped pacing and regarded the sandy-haired boy chained at his desk. How many tomes had this supple-minded pet ingested so far? Fifteen…sixteen? Eighteen. The Master smiled. _

"_What does Libavious say of minerals?"_

"_They can be identified by the shape of the crystals produced when a solution is evaporated." the boy answered immediately. "His work illustrates how to identify and prepare hydrochloric acid, tin tetrachloride, ammonium sulfate, sulfuric acid and aqua regia._

"_What says the work of Nicholas of Cusa?" the master demanded_

"_Space is infinite; there is no up or down. The earth is held on its axis about the sun and stars are other suns vastly far away._

"_Petrus de Maricourt?"_

"_Also called Peregrinus." The youth smiled "Magnetism: a loadstone is attracted to iron without physical contact. A magnet in the form of a needle suspended on a pivot will align itself north and south and can be used in navigation."_

"_Paracelsus"_

"_Aulus Cornelius," the boy began, but the lash falling across his back cut him off. _

"_Fool, I did not say Celcius I said PARA-Celcius!" the Master roared. _

"_Philippus Aureolus, Swiss physician and alchemist" The boy whimpered. It was rare that he answered incorrectly, and the punishment left him torn and bleeding. But the test continued nonetheless. _

_Apain, Fernell…Copernicus, Cano, Paciol, Galen, Zosimus, Ptolemy…the list seemed endless stretching back to the earliest written records. There was so much to grasp, and even the slightest hesitation on his part brought the Master's rod down on his battered back. How would he ever move beyond simple recitation? His abused mind yearned to grasp the ramification of the knowledge he amassed, to find practical applications for it. But how could he, when he hadn't the strength to dream? 'Someday,' he sighed. His mind was the only resource he had; he could not fail. /i_

"I am a simple man Siroc… I carve my lot in life with wit, and word, and failing that few will find my blade unwilling. But you were meant for grander things, my friend. After all—" Ramón sent him a dazzling smile. "—knowledge is power. And in that I'm sure you've got more than most."

"Not always, my friend…not always." Siroc breathed heavily, his thoughts slipping like broken gears, back to the painful lessons of his past.

_i The boy knelt in the corner of his cell and wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. His intelligent eyes flashed wordless, intense green fire. "Such hate, my pet. Why do you think that is?" Mazarin chuckled toying with the sleeve of his red robe._

"_You made me what I am. Why do YOU think that is." the youth retorted. A sharp jerk on his leash brought him to his knees. He gagged painfully._

"_They say knowledge is power. Knowledge is my gift to you. Power is mine alone – do not delude yourself otherwise. The Master pressed his slippered foot on the boy's chain and pulled, drawing him from the relative safety of the corner. "Even if you are not within my sight, you can not escape my reach, for I control powers that are above the laws of science. And those I will NOT share. You are no Aramis; and I am no Richelieu. Do not think yourself capable of raising a hand against me? You are in my Power. You WILL remember your place, my pet, always."/i_

"Did you say something, Siroc?" Ramón asked a bit concerned at his friend's wan expression. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I was just thinking." The inventor sighed.

"You think too much sometimes. If you stay locked away in your mind, you can't really enjoy this glorious day. And it is glorious. The sun — it caresses you. The wind — it plays in your hair. The trees…can you hear their whispered secrets? What mysteries do you need but these?" The poet was beside himself with contentment.

Siroc sent him a wistful smile.

Mysteries? Secrets? Locked away in his mind – if only Ramón knew how right he was. But he didn't. No one was ever beyond the Cardinal's power. Even escape did not necessarily mean freedom. Unless. What had his Master said?

_i"You are no Aramis; and I am no Richelieu, I will not share my power."/i_ Mazarin inherited his power from Richelieu. Richelieu is no longer Mazarin will not share his power…but perhaps there is another source strong enough to oppose the master. What about this Aramis? Perhaps he holds the key… But where to find him?

--

On that note, on to Chapter II…Where Siroc asks, "D'Artagnan Who?"

--

Is it who you are or what you do that's important? Siroc must lay aside his thoughts and lend his attention to Ramón. As the two ride, they share their perceptions of a newcomer to the ranks… a cadet called d'Artagnan.

+--+


	2. Chapter 2: Enough

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-(Chapter II "Enough")-

Siroc's idle musing came to a jarring halt. Ramón was humming. It wasn't that the sound was tuneless or even altogether unpleasant; it was just…wrong. Talking incessantly was one thing. Siroc was accustomed to that…welcomed it even (mostly because it required no response on his part), but this humming so went against the grain of his thoughts that it set his teeth on edge. Idly, Siroc twisted the trailing end of his reigns about his wrist and tried to ignore the sound. Odd, that after all this time he took comfort from the feel of supple leather. --_Don't think about it_! Siroc scolded, mentally. The humming continued.

"Must you do that?" Siroc asked finally.

"What is that?" Ramón asked.

"You're humming, please stop," the inventor explained tersely.

The swarthy musketeer frowned— "Why?"

"Because, I asked you to. And besides, it's inane."

"You do it." he said with a teasing smile.

"Do I?" Siroc sounded incredulous.

The Spaniard nodded. "When you're working."

"I never noticed…Still, I wish you wouldn't. At least not right now. It's bothering me."

"Sorry—" he paused, "So, what do you want to talk about?"

Siroc frowned; he was adept at many things, but conversation was not counted among them. Still, it was better than humming.

"What do you think of that new cadet," Siroc began, "Dart…something? He seems insufferably smug to me."

"Smug?" Ramón chuckled. i_"__¿Es posible?/_i Don't you know who he is?"

"Of course I know who he is." Siroc rolled his eyes. "Captain Duval dragged him up in front during assembly and showed him off like some prized stallion. -- I just can't recall his name."

Ramón laughed. "You are likely the only one in France who doesn't…I've heard the tales even in Toledo! Can it be that you, a musketeer, have never heard of the i_Redoubtable d'Artagnan/i_ and his blade-brothers? Their adventures are near-legend.

"My education included no legends," Siroc stated coldly. The thought cought for a moment in his mind:

i--_Chain grating against stone, torches sputtering and hissing in the darkness… no escape from the smell of pitch or the unpredictable bite of the lash. What did I do this time? the boy wondered, pressing sweaty palms against his tearing eyes._ /i--Siroc Shivered.

"You never heard of La Rochelle…and those who broke fast in the Bastion of St. Gervais?"

"That boy was not at La Rochelle or St. Gervais."

"Not him…! His father. This is d'Artagnan the second."

"Lovely." Siroc yawned. "Still seems haughty to me."

"I think we should befriend him." Ramón practically bounced attempting to mask his excitement. "Imagine, we could be the next illustrious, three Musketeers! To join with a d'Artagnan we could become legends like Aristocratic Athos, Acetic Aramis and Playful Porthos!

Siroc made a sour face. "Who wants to be a legend?" He shrugged, but inside his thoughts spun… _ARAMIS: The name of hope or merely coincidence?_

"Ramón, if you want him as a confidant it had better be for his own merit and not that of his father. You and I both know that who a person is and where they come from has absolutely no bearing on what they are!

Ramón was sullen for the rest of the ride to the barracks.

In the absence of his companions chatter Siroc's thoughts intruded once more… i"_Who are you?!" The master backhanded him, and he collapsed limply on the cold stone. He whimpered, head pounding and he tried to shrink away… tried to hide from the pain, the blow to the head left his ears ringing. He rocked gently and hummed to himself trying to remember… Who rocked him? Who sang wordless songs that made him feel safe? Someone had. Someone had cared for him…once. _

"_Who are your people, boy? Do you even know?" _

_The boy didn't, of course. The master sent the darkness and the red haze to steal such things from his mind. Now he was just empty. Empty and alone –_

"_You are no one. You have no one—no one, that is, but me!" Mazarin growled "You are MINE, Boy—my slave, my pet! Say it!"_

_The boy tried to drown out the angry voice with his humming – that never worked for long…_

"_SAY IT!" The master glowered, gripping the rod in his fist. "What are you? _"_TELL ME!" the master commanded._

_What is empty can be filled – I am a vessel. It is fact. It doesn't change me, the boy's mind raged – I won't let it. I am stronger than a boy, stronger than a slave, stronger than --  
_

_The rod connected with his shoulder and he yelped out loud "A Pet."_ /i

Siroc untwisted the leather from his wrist and thought with relief.

Ramon has stopped humming now.

The inventor's rebuke still echoed in the poet's mind. It had taken Ramón a long time to overcome the emotional insecurities caused by his family's callus disregard – longer yet to accept his banishment with grace — but he wasn't a rejected child anymore. He was making his way in the world. Many admired him — his charm, wit and passion. Only the hopelessly narrow-minded judged him to be a scoundrel simply because he was Spanish. That villainy he always faced head on. But Siroc was right – The past had no bearing on the future. We make our own way in life. Forget the legend and let the new cadet's actions speak for him.

--

-Notes- On to Section three where Siroc, Ramón and d'Artagnan bond… an Amusing and more up beat section of the tale.

D'Artagnan is lost in wine and reminisces about summers with his Uncles Athos and Porthos; Craziness ensues.

+--


	3. Chapter 3: Altered State

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Disclaimer: All hail Dumas and his descendants.  
PAX young blades and the Disney version of 3 musketeers gave inspiration to this tale. There is no money in it for me, just enjoyment  
– Something I hope to share

Let loose oh stalwart friends…when moon shines full. Do honor to maudlin memory and carefree revel. For youth is short and much may be lost ere the turning tide. Translation: D'Artagnan is lost in wine and reminisces about summers with his uncles Athos and Pothos; craziness ensues.

+--------------------------------------+  
-( Chapter III Altered State )-

The huge white stone Building had once been called the Hotel D' Treville. Arnaud-Jean du Peyrer, Comte de Troisvilles Captain-Lieutenant of the Musketeers had been exiled years ago by, then Cardinal, Richelieu. Now that Captain Duvall was in control it was simply referred to as "the Barracks." Siroc eyed the inscription carved on the gate to the courtyard, Courage, Honor, and Loyalty. The same motto was written indelibly on heart and mind of the hundred and twenty some odd men who called this place "Home" -- the Kings Own, The Musketeer.

Siroc felt honored to be counted among such men… Even if As Ramón had pointed-out, his prior education left him purposefully ignorant of there 'legendary' exploits. Over the past several weeks the inventor had taken steps to rectify the situation. He had little difficulty for the air buzzed with tales of D'Artagnan the great and Eavesdropping from the shadows was not something his 'education' overlooked. Many stories he heard were rife with embellishment. Tales of stolen gems and midnight assignations with royalty…And Exciting though they may be, still bordered on treason. The inventor judged them to be largely fanciful. Listened unobserved but was a bit disappointed that the one who could put the gossip to rest once and for all seemed ill equipped to do so.

"STOP TALKING ABOUT MY FATHER!" young D'Artagnan had yelled petulantly in the communal dining hall the other day. Siroc smiled to himself He'd predicted that would be a likely point of contention with the newcomer. Neither He nor Ramón pressed the sable haired recruit and sure enough, like a lodestone, he gravitated toward them.

The outburst did little to quiet them and Over the next month Siroc believed he had indeed heard more than enough about Charles de Batz-Castelmore D'Artagnan and glory days. Still, he couldn't help but wonder why the tale-spinners were not equally verbose about D'Artagnan's equally famous 'Uncles'. According to tantalizing fragments Siroc gathered that the indomitable trio of Arturo de le Fére Comte du Berry, Emris de Ruse, Paul de Portau …took the popular names of Athos, Aramis and Porthos when they joined the core. But it was interest their current exploits and whereabouts that roused the young inventor most. And of the three it was the 'would be priest', Aramis that remained the most enigmatic.

Despite the younger D'Artagnan's violent opposition to the exploits of his illustrious sire; young D'Artagnan could be induced to reminisce freely about his dear uncles Athos and Paulie. All that was required was several bottles of the wine of Anjou split between the three of them.

"Oh the summerzs were grand!" the legend's son grinned to his, somewhat blurry companions. "Berry is just about the most perfectest place in the whole world. The manse is so much nicer than ours, and homey… like the barrackses here."

"What did you eat there?" Ramón urged: wondering, not for the first time, how few bites it would take to devour an entire chicken.

"There was lovely food Ramón – feast for the whole town every summer. Uncle Count Athos would cook and serve even to the littlest peasant.

You-know-who never would-a done that to our pesentes – Not fitting… nor proper." D'Artagnan blinked and made a snooty face – as he tried vainly to imitate his father's stalwart demeanor. "Not that he was ever home long enough to know any-o-um." –frown-

"What of your other Uncles, would they spend summers in Berry too?" Siroc asked, still quite lucid—

"_Not too much," his mind cautioned, "Never forget what it is to loose control. Fought too hard to maintain what little we have. Loose focus; miss your chance…Knowledge is key. Be cautious, It's a delicate balance, mustn't let the nightmare win. Can't stand to be alone again._

"Uncle Paulie…that's to say, Captain Porthos would bring his pirate…err pleasure yacht into Berry harbor. That's near the Marriner'Znn you can get chocolate milk there an Napple-cinnamon-pies. Captn' Jono lives in Berry an others visit, too. There's West Robertz, and Jack'z you'd like him, " D'Artagnan smiled crookedly "he's fun… an crazy…a regular sea gypsy!"

Of Emris, D'Artagnan said tantalizingly little. Siroc sighed. He hid his disappointment well, and why not? He'd been schooled painfully to do so.

_Don't push boy…don't let anyone see how much you want it. Whether it's Food, Water or Information you mustn't ask or reach out your hand to take…else it will be snatched from your grasp… And you'll regret your presumption to be sure. Ignore even the most poignant needs and wait till it's given…if it's given that is. – The master's laughed chilled him to the bone and he knew it would be another long hungry night._

Waiting is sometimes so frustrating – especially when Siroc knew D'Artagnan would have little if any memory of the conversation in the sober light of day. He contemplated trying to shift subtly the conversation in that direction when D'Artagnan turned his attention to him again (he tried to)…looking left, right, and left again trying to focus on the 'real' Siroc.

"SSSSS" Ramón laughed imagining several sullen Sirocs sitting silently. –"Shhhh" D'Artagnan wasn't sure which Siroc was laughing at him but the legend's son he knew how to quiet him…Say something incredibly intelligent. "Did you know" he began pointing to the wavy line of Sirocs at once "All cats are gray in the dark." Ha! You can't get more profound than that. He grinned manically.

Siroc signed, realizing he'd clearly missed his chance. And would get nothing more from his friend tonight – "Actually I believe it's a matter of perception…I have two theories actually…One is that part of the eye perceives color and part brightness and contrast, consisting mostly of black white and gray…in low light the latter mechanism takes precedence over the former.

My second theory pertains to the composition of light…I've noted certain crystals can diffuse light into bands of color…that fact leads me to believe that the color of an object is what it is because it absorbs all the colors of light except what we see which it reflects back at night there is less light to reflect so we see more gray. At present I can't discern if light travels as particles or in waves so I must hold of any definitive study until I have more data."

"Do YOU know what I think?" Ramón asked raising an eyebrow and focusing on the Siroc in the center…and pointed at him, as he seemed the most solid of the lot.

"What is that?" the inventor asked.

"It is my sup- supposition suspicion? That you are … entirely too sober… for this conversation."

D'Artagnan giggled at them both "Fire is pretty…like flowers that dance."

"You know my friend you may be correct" Siroc conceded "Perhaps it is high-time I found my bunk. I take my leave of you gentlemen –Till morning." He said with a sweeping bow.

"In the morning cats won't be gray anymore" D'Artagnan called wistfully after the retreating figure.

"Some will." Ramón smiled at him.

"Well maybe some …but not the orange ones."

"Orange…orange, don't talk to me about orange! Mi Dios, How can one be expected to rhapsodize when nothing rhymes with orange! What kind of language is this! The Spaniard's voice faded into the night and Siroc did not regret taking his leave when he did.

After months of patience all Siroc had gleaned was that there had been a falling out between de-Batz Senior and the would-be-priest. D'Artagnan's admission was made in hushed tones "Politics," he frowned "made things too difficult, and I lost him," Pain obvious in his raven dark eyes.

"Lesser things have divided great men." Siroc smiled wryly his true emotions closeted deep in his heart…

_The realization that he was no nearer to his goal pained him -- though It came as no great surprise. Especially if Emris was truly the man he sought… a student of the Cardinal that was, Powerful in both knowledge and fact. Even scientific laws bowed to such things… why not perceptions as well–._

_More dire was the message of pain in his friend's eyes for it spoke of Siroc's greatest fear. In his heart of hearts he knew secrets put strain to a friendship– sooner or later it would break. _

_The sensitive inventor could not help but wonder how long he could enjoy his home here in the barracks and the near familial bond with his blade-brothers. Was this nothing but a brief respite before the darkness of his past would tare them violently apart and eclipse his world once more? How could he return to the emptiness of destiny and the half-life his master trained him for?_

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-notes-

Well that's chapter 3, longer than I expected…free-range thinking will do that to you I suppose. I really enjoyed writing this one. I've found myself in Siroc's position more than once – Stay sober, you know it's time to leave when you have to say _"put down that hedgehog and get off the fence…by all that's holy man remember you're in a kilt!'_

_-------------------- Next chapter gets a bit darker again, _

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	4. Chapter 4: Leave Taking

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Disclaimer: All hail Dumas and his descendants.  
PAX young blades and the Disney version of 3 musketeers gave inspiration to this tale. There is no money in it for me, just enjoyment  
– Something I hope to share

+--------------------------------------+  
-( Chapter IV Leave taking)-

Siroc lay huddled in a small ball in the exact center of his bunk…long ago he learned that when the dreams came it was best to let them roll over you. Stay rooted in what was real and let the rest Heave and crest like waves on the shore – eventually they would pass. Thrashing about served no purpose and often strained barely healed muscles and wounds. So he clasped his knees to his chest and shuttered; alone in the night.

_The boy ran…bare feet pounding; breath torn from the frigid air clawed his lungs in. A silver serpent raced at his heals. Writhing, rattling, beating against the torn flesh of his back…_-FALSE- he reproached his rebel mind. Have you not enough truth to terrify a thousand nights you conjure this nightmare beast? Mustn't loose perspective. _He was not being perused;_ _it was just that the chain affixed to his collar flung over one shoulder. It fell down his back yes, rubbed him raw, yes…scraped and chimed on the flagstone behind him as he ran. The sound was loud it echoed against the high walls. But he was not running 'from' something he was running 'to' something._

_It had been winter the first time he attempted escape…he never imagined it could be so cold outside the master's lair. There were others here, empty eyed, no-less prisoners than he; even the guards had the same soulless stare. They leaned on their spears and didn't move to intercept him. The sky was dreary but to him it seemed the most beautiful he'd ever seen…he'd hardly dared imagine a place where stone did not encroach on every side. The gate loomed large before him, wrought-iron grillwork spanned the void but there were places where a malnourished child might squeeze…perhaps find a way through to the world he only imagined._

"_Down, pet" the master's voice rang out….and the boy collapsed in a boneless heap in the center of the courtyard. "Here" the call was undeniable, inescapable…chords of power bound him more tightly to the master then even his chain. He crawled forlornly back to his masters side._ _"Have you learned your lesson do you think?" "Yes master, please master" the pathetic creature cried –shaking hands presented the end of his chain liquid brown eyes tentatively entreating the red robed monster…to take it ---_true—

Siroc woke with a strangled gasp, soaked with sweat… blanket a twisted knot tight in his fists. It was still several hours to dawn. He rose and carefully arched his tortured back. He shook his hands and touched his toes to work the kinks out, then dropped to the ground and did 50 pushups – his usual morning routine.

Few of the guard were awake at this hour. Those few on sentry duty of course…others just getting in from some nocturnal assignation. In general it was undisturbed as fresh fallen snow. Siroc often made it all the way to the barracks bathhouse without encountering a living soul. Communal living was trying for someone who had spent so long penned in absolute solitude.

There was no way to purge the marks from his body (or mind for that matter). Duvall knew of course…, the medic had to inform him after his physical. The captain even suggested he use the baths early…stating that any he met then likely had just as much – or more to hide than he did.

Siroc couldn't imagine anyone could have more to hide than he did. Then again, the captain could only see the physical effects so how could he be expected to judge. The blond youth saw how uncomfortable the indomitable captain was with his scars alone and wanted to spare his other companions that sympathetic pain, as long as he was able.

So it was he made his solitary pilgrimage in the last watch of the night -- the warm water was a balm to his aching soul –he smiled- The face that greeting him from the mirror was still unnaturally pale…but the circles under his eyes were already fading…somehow he doubted his companions would ever greeting the day this early with anything approaching enthusiasm.

Siroc hastily climbed the spiral stair to the wall walk and the east-facing parapet. It was part of his exercise routine but he recognized this was just a shallow excuse. He loved watching the sunrise…and set too for that matter, though he was generally too busy at that hour to enjoy it with any regularity. Spring was beginning to wear thin around the edges and there was a long day ahead.

The young inventor began as he drank in the many hued brilliance of the dawn…still he felt the approach of another "Captain" he said smartly, not turning from the view.

"Don't know how you do that boy, sometimes you're just a bit uncanny. Reminds me of a musketeer I knew when I first received my commission."

"Wasn't Emris was it?" Siroc asked before he caught himself.

"Oh no, though he was strange enough in his own way…I meant the Dark Cavalier… Come to think of it He and Emris didn't get along at all–Oil and water." Duval chuckled "I recall the term 'Demon-spawn from the Pit of Hell' bantered about rather frequently. Those were the days." The captain sighed contented.

"hmm" Siroc responded noncommittally but his heart leapt.

'_This musketeer must be the one he sought! Who but a creature of the cardinal could justifiably describes as a Demon-spawn? And if the crypts beneath the Master's citadel were not 'The Pits of Hell' then I doubt such a place exists.' _

_His thoughts chilled he wondered, 'If this 'dark cavalier' discovered Aramis' secret could he not also discover mine?' for sanity sake he decided it was best not peruse that line of questioning._

Questioning? He'd never thought to target the reserved captain for information. For him subservience to ones superiors was an ingrained response. But if he ever hoped to slip the conditioning that compelled him back to his master's side he would have to use whatever means required. The young inventor steeled himself and asked, "Do you know anything of Berry, sir?"

"Ah, beautiful gem of the Loire valley… Independent as a force of nature are the Berrichons…It was established by warlords before even Rome was born…watered by the blood of brave warriors many times since. But I expect youare most interested Berry le Fére hereditary home of Count Athos. Infinity died there and not so very long ago nearly half the combined forces of Captains Treville and Jurassk relocated to there by the bay and the lands beholden to it. If invited, I wouldn't mind retiring there myself one day."

"Wasn't Jurask Captain of Richileu's guard?"

"Of the Red guard yes."

"And Treville called these very walls home did he not?"

"You know that Siroc…you're baiting me." The captain frowned "Why don't you just come out and ask what possessed rival guards to cast aside their colors in favor of Berry black."

Siroc cast his gaze to the ground… "I didn't think you'd tell me."

"Despite what you may think I do not take tremendous satisfaction in tormenting my men. I am not stupid you know…and I may even make things easier from time to time. It's nearly time for me to start scheduling summer leave. I am aware neither you, nor Ramón, have anywhere to go over the holidays. Would it suit you if I suggest D'Artagnan take you both south and for a few weeks so you can see how things stand for yourself?"

"That would be…most acceptable sir." Siroc admitted, emotion welling up within him. He fought to subdue it before the captain noticed.

"Think nothing about it private. I'd just as soon you weren't moping about this place…or try to blow it up again." The captain said with mock severity.

As if on queue the breakfast bell rang… out making further conversation unnecessary. Siroc nodded smartly and saluted before hurrying off to join his companions in the dining hall.

_As he made his way to the hall tears came unbidden to his eyes. He was no prisoner here…but the enormity of the fact still stunned him. Consciously Siroc knew he was free to come and go as often as his duties allowed. Unconsciously though he was very much accustom to being kept on a short leash (both literally and figuratively). Was that really what kept him in the lab when not on duty? _

_He reflected on his activities over the past several weeks. It seemed the only time he left the grounds was when Ramón, D'Artagnan or both forcibly dislodged him. Now it was clear His commanding officer didn't mind if he was left unsupervised for weeks…even suggested he range halfway across the country. The only proviso was that he and his companions decide if the idea suited them._

_Could he even envision that level of … freedom?_

Ramón did not take well to mornings. He arrived at breakfast half dressed, eyes puffy with sleep, hair spiked out at odd angles… as if a squirrel had attempted to nest in it during the night.

"Have some Tea Ramón" Siroc offered.

The Spaniard made a sour face, "I hate tea…can't you invent something better?"

"Sorry my friend…I make experiments not recipes. Tea will have to do."

"Yuck" frowned and got a bowl of oat porridge and some fruit from the kitchen staff before sitting across the table from his friend.

D'Artagnan swept in sometime later after both had completed their meal and sat patently waiting for him. The Legend's son looked ready to start his day…His dark hair brushed and pulled into a neat tail at the base of his neck. His tunic was slung over his shoulder and he carried his baldric and blade.

"I've had a fabulous idea." He announced barely tasting his breakfast as he bolted it down.

"Spare us the suspense" Ramón yawned.

"I'm bringing you both to Berry for summer leave. I've already talked to Captain Duval and he's agreed to schedule us for the same weeks… Won't that be great?"

"Your Idea?" Siroc smiled

"Of course it's my idea… It's my uncle's town after all, why not." D'Artagnan said defensively.

"Of course, I should have known…It sounds like a very fine idea… what do you think Ramón?" the inventor asked.

"hmm?" the poet had nearly dozed off…again. "Oh yes, of course…I didn't have any plans for summer yet.

"Good. Its settled then." D'Artagnan announced pounding his fists on the table for emphasis… "We leave in three weeks!"

_----------------------(_

Notes: Hoped you enjoyed this one…I really enjoy the review process, thanks all of you. Next chapter reveals what happens while they're on leave.

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	5. Chapter 5: berry Le Fere

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Disclaimer: All hail Dumas and his descendants.  
PAX young blades and the Disney version of 3 musketeers gave inspiration to this tale. There is no money in it for me, just enjoyment  
– Something I hope to share

+--------------------------------------+  
-( Chapter V Berry Le Fére)-

The stalwart trio had a relatively uneventful three weeks. They apprehended a thief… uncovered a plot to kidnap the governor's daughter…helped repair a broken gristmill…and won a marathon netball tourney. The only notable excitement happened when Bernard, Mazarin's messenger boy, came to the barracks to deliver some 'Incident reports' to Captain Duval. Apparently while he was doing so, someone smeared large quantities of tree sap on his saddle…Subsequently when he felt something was amiss and tried dismount, his horse spooked and he fell into a large puddle. The arrogant young man was quite livid, to say the least, and demanded the culprit(s) be found and given a sound thrashing. Coincidentally, (one might assume) that was the morning of the same day D'Artagnan, Ramón and Siroc set out for Berry.

D'Artagnan and Ramón rode side-by-side chatting amiably about the weather (the early morning drizzle having lifted, it promised to be a fine day) the pastoral countryside…and the route they were to take to south to the Loire valley. Siroc lagged behind…not just because he had no desire to join the conversation. As the bustle of the capital faded into the distance a persistent ache blossomed his chest – at times his pulse raced… other times it felt that his blood ran cold in his veins.

_I am all right_ he told himself and as the miles stretched on and the sun shone brilliantly about him, he almost came to believe it.

Berry was everything D'Artagnan said it was. The town was quaint…with its thatched cottages and flowered hedgerows. But there was a sense if playfulness that pervaded all aspects of life – People were content but there was an oddness too that made berry unlike the other small hemlets they passed through on their journey from the capital. The people worked in the fields' mended roads… fences…buildings all with the bearing and carriage of army engineers. Even the children were hardly unruly urchins … they acted as runners, lackeys and stable boys with the same efficacy and discipline as those hired to such duties in the Barracks.

When Ramón mentioned this Siroc recalled what Captain Duval had said about nearly half the combined forces of Captains Treville and Jurassk settling here.

"I tell it to you like I learned it as a child." D'Artagnan cleared his throat and recited the Ballad of Berry.

Winter brought Berry to Pain and to Grief

Till Blue returned and blade brought relief

Next came Red, Jury's peace, Honor Bound

And Rust was the last, lost children are found.

"The first part is about Berry's dark time. A witch called Sabine traced Uncle Athos, made him marry her then had his parents killed so she would control title and town. He tried to break her enchantment and fled – taking refuge among the kings guard. Things got very bad here but Athos didn't find out for many years…when milady was finally executed.

Then came the next part. Blue is the musketeer of course. Athos brought Treville's finest to bear and chased out the false Count de' Winter and the Rust guard that occupied the town. They didn't quite go quietly persisted raiding and burning for a while.

When Richileu's influence was shattered some of his men realized they'd rather stay loyal to captain Jurask under protective custody than swear unconditional allegiance to another like the cardinal. The guards of king and cardinal might have been …and still are rivals but as cadets Trev and Jury were best friends. They came to an arrangement and Red and Blue live in peace here.

The last part is about reclaiming the Rust. When Athos retook the town he found only women and children most broken and abused. Some few boys had hidden wild in the woods but largely the all the males were taken…bound by enchantment and made into Rust guards.

d'Winter's raids never really stopped but Berry-guard tried to capture or incapacitate as many as possible. Over time their commander's influence wears thin and they are part of the town again. Lost children found.

So that my friends, explains why there are so many guardsmen of various affiliations that make their home here. I'm sure I missed some of the more…. Aiii!" the narrative was suddenly interrupted when someone grabbed D'Artagnan around the waist and swept him into the air.

D'Artagnan's assailant was a handsome 20 year old with laughing blue eyes and tussled honey colored hair. "Put me down Grim de Le Fére!" D'Artagnan crowed loudly and the other obeyed… and brushed the dust off of him with a mocking smile. "Ramón, Siroc this is Grim… Athos's ….What is he calling you these days …Son? OR is it finally Son-in-law? D'Artagnan teased.

The cheerful young man made an elegant gesture and crossed his wrists.

"No, your no slave … not his lackey ether. Your as much family as I am and you know that full well."

Siroc and Ramón exchanged glances uncertainly the word passed unspoken between them 'Deaf?' they wondered.

D'Artagnan noticed the look…as did Grim. He knew it well and shrugged. Carefully he ran a finger down his neck pulling away the silk neckerchief he wore exposing a vivid white scar across his throat.

"Athos wasn't his first owner…he's been silent as long as I've known him. Uncle Paulie told everyone in the Core he wouldn't speak because Athos didn't allow it… it was a joke so he wouldn't get hassled." D'Artagnan explained. "It didn't really matter Paulie's Mouse never minded translating for those who don't understand the silent-cant…Mouse is one x-urchin who talks enough for two."

Grim nodded and gestured so clearly all understood '2?" more like '5!'

D'Artagnan laughed "five indeed, I stand corrected. Are there at the moment?

Grim made a sinuous motion of one hand. Pointed then frowned expressively.

"They're at sea…and sure to be disappointed they missed us… Even doubly so… See that flag there?" D'Artagnan explained excitedly pointing a flying standard with three silver fleurs-de-lis on a blue field edged in red. "That means Grim here told my uncle of our arrival … there will be a feast tonight with us as guests of honor!"

"I've never had my own feast before. Do you think there will be chicken?" Ramón asked.

"Chicken, Venison, likely even wild Boar. In a town largely populated by X-military there are always those up for the hunt. And the de la Fére have a secret sauce for marinating meats. The reason I haven't introduced you to him yet is that He's locked away in the kitchens preparing the special Q-sauce…it's delicious… All Berry feasts are called Q's in honor of it."

"I think I'm going to like it here." The Spaniard grinned and licked his lips wolfishly.

As soon as the townspeople saw the flag they abandoned what they were doing and sprang into action. With military precision tables appeared in the main square…flowered garlands were draped along the main thoroughfares. People arrived with instruments and song sprang up spontaneously. A girl danced by grabbed Ramón's hand and swept him into the fray.

Siroc looked bewildered by it all. "He'll be fine" D'Artagnan reassured "Over there you can win ribbons in games of skill… Blue with the fleur-de-lis for first, Red with the sword for second, Rust with the bell for third…just like the story – They used to ring a bell to warn everyone when Rust was raiding … the reclaimed ones took the bell as their symbol.

D'Artagnan and Siroc split up to find their own entertainment after agreeing to meet back by the fire-pits for the feast. When all was in readiness a parade of woman arrived from all areas of the town carrying platters and bowls of every kind of food imaginable. The count De la Fére emerged from Mansion and took his rightful place…beside Four huge fire pits. The famous sauce was ready and the count's tender efforts filled air with the succulent sweetness of spices as well as roasting meat. Ramón was beside himself rhapsodizing about everything. He had a regular bevy of admirers … not the least of which the dark eyed beauty that took him to dance.

After everyone had been fed the D'Artagnan felt justified in approaching the fire pits with the sole purpose of introducing his friends to his uncle. Athos De le Fére was a large man…of undeniable nobility. "Dart my boy…Its been to long!" he smiled picking him up in the same playful manor Grim had. "So you're cadets…Is Duval giving you a hard time?"

"Only when we deserve it sir." Siroc replied

"Good man" Athos laughed heartily.

oo

The party wore on late into the night and the three were tumbled wearily into one of the spare rooms in the de la Fére mansion.

When Siroc emerged from the garderobe dressed for bed had a quizzical look on his face. "D'Artagnan" he asked, "what are the black ribbon's for… the ones with gold or silver edges?"

"Oh I left them out didn't I…It's actually quite long I only gave you the summary verse. The part you want goes…Lets see… 'Chosen's Brood the best of the best… How to know them…in black they dress.' Normal people like us can't usually win the black ribbons, and the others are too easy for the Black Guard so they're in a league all their own."

"Really?" Siroc asked and pulled one from his pocket.

D'Artagnan's eyes widened "Where did you…" he began.

"They had a competition for building siege engines to fling carved wooden animals at a miniature castle. A nice gent named Sable gave it to me when my trebuchet design beat his cow-launching ballista in both distance and accuracy.

"Well I guessed you weren't exactly normal my friend… but I didn't think you'd count as the-best-of-the-best. But if one of the Dark Cavalier's marks you…then you must be."

"_Dark cavalier? Marked? Demon spawn! I'm running out of time!"_ Siroc's chest tightened and the pain intensified sharply. His mind spun as he tried to thrust the panic from it… to no avail. _"If I'm discovered before I find him….If the others find out …Pit of Hell…I can't go back, I just can't! But what choice do I have? I even here I am bound."_ He wanted to scream to rage …His eyes flashed briefly but his expression didn't reveal the turmoil that seethed just beneath the surface.

"So what do you think of it all?" D'Artagnan asked, not even bothering to turn around as he dressed.

"Everything you said and more my friend." Ramón smiled

"You Siroc?"

_Discipline slipped, just for an instant._ "I should very much like to meet your uncle Emris" Siroc confided – _There it was said Consequences be damned._

It was strange. D'Artagnan never heard his normally impassive companion give voice to such a seemingly heartfelt request– or any request at all for that matter. "I'll see what I can do." He replied. And was determined to see it done.

"Rest well my friends." Ramón whispered and put out the light.

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This one was a bit wordy I know…My English teachers rule was show… Don't tell, but that's not always possible – I did not do the history of Berry justice hope I didn't bore you too much. Thanks for sticking with me… the next chapter I think is better. I do after all call it 'Finally some answers'

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	6. Chapter 6: Finally Some Answers

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Disclaimer: All hail Dumas and his descendants.  
PAX young blades and the Disney version of 3 musketeers gave inspiration to this tale. There is no money in it for me, just enjoyment  
– Something I hope to share

+--------------------------------------+

-(Chapter VI Finally Some Answers)-

They'd only just arrived in Berry and already they were leaving it…but just for a little while. Ramón opted to stay behind – likely to continue his acquaintance with the young lady that had stolen him away the day before. Siroc's brown mare followed several lengths behind D'Artagnan's as they picked their way along the rutted path that wound through the Vale.

On right was the chilling beauty of the Lior, on the left, the wild and unruly forest. They'd left after lunch (leftovers from the night before) Now it was getting on toward dusk. The two 'pilgrims' neared the end of their journey. The Abbé itself crouched protectively on a hill, a squat gray edifice with thick imposing walls-- almost castle-like in its intensity.

That first view sent shivers' dancing up and down Siroc's spine. It was not difficult for the tortured inventor to imagine this place a scaled down version of his master's citadel. A living force capable of almost anything…was it predatory or protective in its regard for the sleepy little hamlet sprawled at its base?

"What now?" Siroc asked.

"Uncle Athos said if we arrive between 9 and 5 use to the front gate…from the hours of 5 to 9 we are to use the ladder in the garden to climb in the back window…"

"You don't suppose he was teasing about that do you?" the pensive blond asked.

D'Artagnan shrugged. "He said People do it all the time."

"Well" Siroc sighed, "I guess it's the ladder then."

All was exactly ad they'd been told, the secluded garden bower… the sturdy ladder masquerading as a trellis …heavy-laden with morning glories. D'Artagnan paused gazing long and hard at the clearstory window that stood open in the cooling air of dusk.

"I don't know…Maybe we should wait till it gets a bit darker?" he mused aloud.

"This is your uncle…how bad can it be?" Siroc reminded.

"I haven't seen him since I was 10"

"He was nice enough then wasn't he?"

"My favorite actually."

"Well then?"

Young D'Artagnan nodded wordlessly made his careful ascent. Siroc followed close at his heals.

"What brings you my son?" a sonorous voice greeted them. The speaker, who was stripped to the waist, sat with his back to the window. A girl in a white shift stood beside him. Siroc's first thought was that they happened upon something less-than-wholesome. Then he realized the willowy 14-year-old was in-fact sewing together the ragged edges of what appeared to be a bullet hole piercing the meaty part of the elder man's shoulder. He wasn't sure which impression struck him as more surreal.

"I…We…Athos told us where you could be found." D'Artagnan stammered.

"And so, I see you have found me." Emris said then winced … the girl having finished 'her mending' tied off the thread and casually bit off the extra length with her teeth. Then bound the injury with a strip of cloth. "Come to visit this old spider in his web have you?" Emris asked, "Your father would not approve."

The girl turned finally. "Dart, you've grown…and brought a friend." Green eyes sparkled when she smiled.

"K'Lyn?" D'Artagnan gasped then remembered his manners "This is my friend Siroc…Siroc, My Uncle Emris and his daughter Kate. Emris rose easily and held out his hand. A lesser man, had he been able to rise at all… would be clutching the back of the chair for support; not this man. His face was serene, 'well-schooled' Siroc thought. He was a handsome man but naturally wan, made even more so from the recent wound and loss of blood. He was both slim and fit with nobility in his fine features. As their eyes met and Siroc recognized the dark fire in his gaze…this man was one accustomed to pain.

D'Artagnan bore the brunt of the conversation… This was his family after all and he had a good many years of catching up to do. Siroc nodded from time to time and added a word or two here and there but largely he just listened. D'Artagnan told of his acceptance in the Musketeers and reminisced about childhood adventures with Kate…and Athos' daughter Abbe. Emris measured the taciturn blond youth wordlessly. Having made some decision, His mouth tightened at the corners.

"Kate, take Young Dart to the kitchens and make us all something to eat… I sense his companion has something he wants to ask me." Under his breath he added, "Take your time."

"Yes Sir" she nodded with almost military precision and spirited her quickly cousin away.

"H..how…What makes you think I wanted…" Siroc faltered.

"Something weighs heavily at the frayed edges of your mind child. How can I not see?" Emris leaned backward on the edge of his cluttered desk.

After all this time Siroc didn't know what to say. '_I don't know him' _his mind awhirl;_ 'what if he isn't what I think? Can I kill him if I have too?' _He studied the stacks of books and papers distractedly. He didn't want to meet those sensitive…inquisitive… brown eyes again. A torn manuscript page balanced precariously on the edge of the desk drew his attention and his breath caught in his lungs.

Siroc picked it up…and studied it closely… The loop and curl on the capitals 'R' and 'D' the angled flourish on the 'A' and 'E'… There could be no mistake. He' spent countless hours studying that same flowing script…It was found in nearly a third of the books in his master's library. "Where did you get this?" He breathed.

"I wrote it." Emris admitted quietly.

At the simple admission pain shot through Siroc, body and mind "Help me." he cried, voice little more than a tremulous whisper. The red haze closed around him and strength fled. The blond youth slumped to his knees at the man's feet … his grip on consciousness quickly slipping away, back... once again into the past.

"_I am actually a very compassionate master. I permit my creatures a great deal of freedom." Mazarin hissed, tugging on the chain leash that brought the boy within easy reach. "You do not believe me I know…I could make it so you must believe anything I say… Instead I conserve my power and use lessons instead. Today you will learn to appreciate just how much freedom I allow – as it strip it from you." _

_The evil man ran a long cold finger from the center of the boy's forehead to the center of his chest the chill bled into the boy and spread "You will pay heed to no voice but my own…You will be incapable of movement less I guide … you may not look away from where I direct, or close your eyes…this is also to be a lesson…of power." Mazarin coiled the chain lead around his palm and set it on the boy's shoulder. "Come, There are people waiting."_

_The transfixed lad preceded his master into the crypt. Dark figures robed and hooded were gathered there…they chanted quietly in a language he did not know. The boy's gaze was locked forward he saw the stone table carved with runes…the black candles flicker in time to the chant. A body lay there, chest-bared…face covered with a fine red cloth. _

_The master took a metal tool from his robes, it seemed at first like the brass-knuckles some of the guards used… but this tool was made with 2 sets of 3 connected metal bands instead of 1 set of 4, The master slid rings over the boys 3 middle fingers then placed his own fingers in the other bands so his hand covered the back of the boy's smaller one. Marionette like he moved the boys hand to the helpless body restrained on the table. _

_The skin felt like wax beneath his touch but there was life in it. The chanting intensified and there was a slight burning sensation as the boy felt his hand slip beneath the skin. His mind recoiled because his body could not. He's studied human anatomy extensively but it was still a shock to feel the living innards beneath one's fingers. His unfailingly analytical mind could recognize intestines, stomach, ribs -- he wanted to faint, but even that was not permitted him._

"_God" his mind whispered though he didn't understand the meaning of the word…It seemed fitting… more so when he cradled the man's beating heart in his hand. His breath caught in his throat as the master's hand, and therefore his own, slowly began to squeeze. "God no" he would have cried had he been able. For some reason the chanting faltered and the master broke contact with an angry grunt. This momentary lapse was all that was needed for the boy to slip into unconsciousness._

The would-be priest sat on his heals and faced him eye–to-eye. "LOOK AT ME BOY" Aramis commanded gripping his shoulders tight as his injured shoulder permitted.

The master used just that same tone to great effect. The broken inventor cringed and emitting a kitten-like whimper… but the haze receded.

"Is it true?" he asked weakly "Did you raise a hand against him…your master?"

"It is true." Aramis confirmed.

"What happened?"

"He shot me." The older placed a 2 fingers directly in the center of the boy's chest and with a slow smile mimed the firing pistol.

"I'm serious!" Siroc exclaimed almost frantic.

"So am I boy, dead serious" -tired sigh- "I learned an important lesson that day."

"And that would be what? That there's no hope?" Tears stung his eyes.

"No" he pulled a chain out from his shirt and held it before the boys face so he got a good look at the plain metal cross with a bullet still imbedded in it. "I learned HE wasn't GOD."

"Not…" Siroc looked confused.

"There is a higher law…one unperverted by my master, or yours. I am not, I think, mistaken in my belief that Mazarin has left his mark on you."

"Hhe he…made me." Siroc whispered softly.

"He did nothing of the sort." Emris frowned, "Shaped perhaps but not made. Ones such as he can warp… but never create. It is a inherent failure to their so-called art."

The sandy haired youth swallowed hard. "Captain Duval said the Dark cavalier knew you were… were… 'demon spawn'…like me." Siroc whispered uncertainly.

"He said! Emris snorted, "Ether you misunderstood or Duval is senile in his old age…" If this were any less serious subject Emris would be rolling on the floor laughing… he fought valiantly to suppress his mirth. Tears glimmered in his eyes.

"I I don't understand." Siroc faltered.

"Perhaps I'd best start at the beginning as it seems you are working from some tangled misconceptions my young friend. You will have to bear with me though this is not a tale I am accustomed to telling – and would not tell even now, at least not in it' entirety, were you not who and what you are."

oo

I am Emris de Ruse…My mother was a slave. Not a house slave, farm slave, or the kind that gets dolled up and perfumed for man's pleasure… Her name is Artemis; she was trained in the old way to fight with staff in the arena. The ruins of old Rome are not as vacant as many believe them, and likely never will be. At least not when there is coin to be had in such things.

Kevin De Ruse was a Baron: by his own admission, callow and rich…a daredevil with money to spare at least until he came a spectator to the blood sport. He fell to prey to the most dangerous thrill of all. He dared fall in love with my mother.

The scandal was tremendous…and the court, outraged. Not that he would want her, for she was undeniably beautiful… but that he would marry her. My sister Kate…(the child's name sake) and I were legitimate born to noble and slave, and therefore pariah. Other nobles shunned us. My parents felt it to be little loss …yet my hunger for knowledge and acceptance consumed me.

When he was sure I would be content no other way, my father arranged for my training in the citadel. In my innocence I was easily ensnared by the master's whiles. When I was told I had no family outside the walls of the citadel I believed them. My studies were my life…I was a scribe and acolyte… my Master's pride, and I loved it. My only regret was that this life I choose required me to give up my poetry, my dreams…and the girl I desired -- Rachel Shevero. (Not the child's mother…but I wish to God she were.)

I was passionate about my studies…hardworking and devoted. But then a dark silent youth arrived with the master… not a student… not a scribe… as I saw it, he was a rival in what I hoped would be my place at the Masters side. I let my jealousy hold me fast. As I'd noted the boy was no student. Later I found he was called the Master's Chosen… a living weapon, called in to being to serve. Soon after that I left the citadel. When I saw him among the musketeer I knew him to be a spy, no one believed me. … It was HE I called the demon spawn from the Pit of Hell…To this day I believe there is no more dangerous creature."

"And no creature more cunning than you Remiss…" Whispered a hoarse voice. Siroc jumped…startled. As shadowed figure appeared, as if from nothingness, and leaned idly on the desk beside them. He toyed with a gleaming dagger as he spoke. "I don't believe I ever denied your accusations… your outrage at my spying was understandable I suppose. You could not know that you were in the King's ranks for the same reason as I. But that, as you say, in the past. It seems I am arrived just in time."

The newcomer was of an age with Emris and had long raven hair, sharp features and dark burning eyes …or rather one…the other was covered by a featureless patch. He nodded to Siroc, "Welcome little cousin, I had heard you were lately come to Berry. I Am … As he said, the Master's Chosen…I've been told I was born Ford de la Roche. My master named me Rocheford…though most know me simply as 'Cavalier."

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Not as many answers as I hoped…Please forgive me; I tried to upload this several times and it wouldn't load. I figured I'd cut it here make it shorter and then see if it would go up. I called the next section interlude.

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	7. Chapter 7: Interlude

Disclaimer: All hail Dumas and his descendants.  
PAX young blades and the Disney version of 3 musketeers gave inspiration to this tale. There is no money in it for me, just enjoyment  
– Something I hope to share

+--------------------------------------+

-(Chapter VII Interlude)-

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D'Artagnan and his cousin arrived bearing heavily laden trays. There were warm cookies, fresh fruit, and pies made from sliced Q-meat that Athos had insisted they bring for Aramis. It looked and smelled delicious…but Siroc wasn't sure he felt much like eating.

Kelly smiled at Cavalier…seemingly not at all surprised to find him in her father's study… and offered him a Q'pie. The legend's son frowned mildly. In his ever-so-subtly way he asked, "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

Cavalier chuckled, "This from a D'Artagnan…" coming from him it wasn't necessarily a reassuring sound. "I let your father kill me… but then I had killed him once already: when this happened." He touched the dark patch meaningfully the shrugged, "It seemed only fair I didn't stay dead any longer than he did. Julian is an uncommonly fine Medic…and I am surprisingly well made."

D'Artagnan's was as eloquent as a monosyllabic response can be. "Oh."

"By my reckoning things are even between us now. When you visited Berry years ago, I would have introduced myself to you. But, as it happened, duties required me elsewhere at the time." The Master's Chosen explained nonchalantly.

One rarely knew how to respond to revelations of this kind. No matter that young Dart brought it on himself – Chosen did not lie. Still Normal people…(and D'Artagnans in particular) are notoriously limited when it comes to accepting what they deemed fantastic. For the Master's creatures, it is their nature they accept it as matter of course.

Last Emris had heard, Charles D'Batz still avidly denied the event …even to those few who witnessed the dark Cavalier that rain drenched night carrying D'Artagnan's lifeless body through the streets of Paris. If only they'd known he was taking it to the Musketeer's 'med-bay' (as that peculiar Englishman in charge had called it.) But then, how could any know Julian had the skill to revive him?

Despite their past differences…Emris could not deny it spoke well of Rocheford that he choose the life of his adversary over the use of his eye that night…Julian could have used his uncanny skills mend him had he stayed… As it was, the dark man was not truly blinded. The patch was carefully constructed to protect what the scarred eyelid did not…leaving his aim as deadly as ever.

Pity some (Emris foremost among them) jumped to conclusions and had Rocheford arrested without knowing all the details. Their presumption ultimately got him cast out of the musketeer–Dueling was illegal and killing a sword-brother 'Conduct unbecoming a musketeer'. If only we'd known.' Emris sighed. But that was another story, known only to a few.

Perhaps wisely, Emris decided to change the subject. "So, Siroc here tells me Dazy is Captain of the Musketeer's since your father moved on to other pursuits; probably for the best."

"Dasy?" D'Atragnan asked flabbergasted – even Siroc smiled a bit at that.

"Well it's David actually… David W. Duvall" Cavalier said quietly "You shouldn't be sharing such tales Remiss…a cadets horsemanship…or lack there of is no small matter." He frowned.

"He fell off his horse so often we said he walked around in a daze…later he got the idea it wouldn't hurt so much if he stuffed his trousers with hay…then we called him Scarecrow. I think he itched for a week." Emris smiled smugly…_that'll serve him right for bringing up the demon spawn issue. _

The thought of the stalwart captain as a gangly youth stuffed with hay was just too much… Siroc pushed his pain and endless stream of unspoken questions aside and grabbed a cluster of grapes from the tray then proceeded to pull them off with his teeth one at a time.

Cavalier looked relieved at the inventor's renewed appetite and used his dagger to impale a slice of fresh melon off the tray then ate it from the tip of his blade.

D'Artagnan pushed the cherries and strawberries into a line on the tray for about a few heartbeats before selecting an apricot and biting into it. "Why did you and my father have words?" he asked his uncle finally.

'Words'… that was putting it mildly' Emris thought. 'I thought we'd gotten off safely off this subject.' What he said after some consideration was "I am not as… forthright as when we were young. I know now things I did not know then. In many ways your father is as idealistic as ever, and won't listen to reason. Case in point…I think you know that in your father's eyes, his queen can do no wrong." Aramis frowned, "I am of a somewhat different opinion. I believe one of the greatest services the 'hero of France' could do for his country would be to put Louis across his knee and give him a serious…um…talking to. I have every reason to believe he would be a much nicer sort of boy…not to mention king, if he had more discipline and better guidance.

-Sharp intake of breath from D'Artagnan "That would NOT have gone over well."

"It didn't" was his Uncle's said through grit teeth…that boy had a gift for understatement.

"He compared you to the cardinal didn't he?" Siroc asked in his Oh-so-quiet way.

Emris and Chosen nodded together.

"Papa is nothing like him…not at all." Kate stormed. "He was very bad and didn't care who he hurt-- Even helpless little Philippe!

"That's enough child." Emris whispered, "I don't need your defending, were all friends here." _Adding to himself 'Lets keep it that way; these cadets don't need to know that my loyalty is no longer to the same King as theirs.' _

Cavalier's eye widened – though he suspected he knew what the would-be-priest meant, He'd never imagined a day when Emris would consider him a friend. "Will you be returning with us to Berry -- Aramis?" Cavalier was careful to pronounce the name correctly. "Your Nephew left one of his companions there, I expect they will be wanting to get back to him ere long."

"Yes, I expect 'things' can take care of themselves here for a least a few days. It's getting late…we can leave first thing in the morning." It felt strange not to have the dark man calling him Remiss or Amiss, though it had annoyed him for years. Emris knew Chosen never bore him any particular ill will…even when he made his feeling painfully obvious…Could Chosen help it if over the years he took some small entertainment in responding in kind?

Things were so much better between them than they used to be. When Rocheford first informed the 'Remiss' that he had not in-fact escaped the citadel but been allowed go and was still very much the Master's tool… the X-scribe reacted so violently the dark cavalier thought he might very well be forced to kill him.

Luckily, Emris hadn't been aware of the Master's hold on him… And Chosen, created to work Richelieu's will, knew how to use that influence to call Emris down. Though he'd hated to have to do it… If the child K'Lyn hadn't been in danger Chosen likely would have let the man remain blithely ignorant of the whole situation.

oo

Emris stood placed a hand on the door to the room he'd given Siroc for the night. It was past midnight…he didn't want to disturb the boy but thought it likely his nightmares already had. He pushed the door open quietly and found the ill-used blond still locked in fitful sleep. He lay sprawled across the thin mattress blanket coiled thickly snake-like around one ankle, waist, and most tightly about the wrist flung haphazardly above his head. Head tossed, brow creased…he certainly looked to be in throws of serious one night terror.

Back arched and mouth opened in a silent scream – warm brown eyes fluttered open-- disoriented. "It's all right Siroc, you're safe" Emris whispered.

"Safe." He repeated sleepily, and shivered.

"Here boy lets get you untangled a bit." Emris soothed helping him disentangle the blanket.

"I didn't mean to wake anyone."

"You didn't, I rather expected you might be plagued by dreams this night…I brought you some tea, Its mostly Anise root…some willow bark too. It usually helps me when I have trouble sleeping."

Siroc nodded and took the cup…the fragrance alone helped soothe his twisted thoughts. This dream had been so intense…so emotional he didn't know if it had happened or not.

"Do you want to talk about it" the would-be-priest asked.

It had been so like the waking dream he'd had earlier in the study but this time… "I was laying on a stone table in the citadel crypt. Black candles sputtered… I was helpless…not chained at all but unable to move nonetheless… Robed figures chanted in a language I couldn't understand; the words hurt my ears…tore into my mind. HE stood over me holding a black shape. Runes of fire appeared on the side if it…I felt them burning…my chest…my mind…I screamed...and the red haze took me." Siroc shook his head and sighed.

_He has the obelisk …this complicates matters. Emris thought _"It is as I said when we first spoke… he marked you."

"Is there anything we can do about it?" Siroc asked -- fear in his voice.

"Perhaps." Emris licked his dry lips "You recall what Chosen said about killing D'Artagnan and allowing himself be killed in return?"

"Yes" Siroc nodded wondering what this had to do with him.

"That was truth…from a certain point of view. Richelieu was big into that type of irony. There was one time the king accused him of treason to his face. It was after his fencing lesson with Treville. I was on guard that day and heard him myself. The cardinal smiled … and admitted to it all – but not so a 'normal' like the king would understand. 'I make oaths to pagan gods' He said, 'seduce the queen in her own chamber, teach pigs to dance and horses to fly… and keep the moon carefully hidden in the folds of my robe.'

The king believed he was merely making light of the rumors but I knew better than to deny truth. As to the matter of the queen: D'Artagnan was her confidant even then, not I. But as to the rest… Who do you think built that dark tabernacle beneath the citadel? Mazarin, is was the master's pig apprentice, I've seen him dance rings around little Louis just as Richelieu did his father. So that unlikely statement also rings true.

The horse you may see for yourself, he awaits outside as we speak. It is not for nothing Chosen is called Cavalier. His Charger is as unnatural as he is. I have seen no finer animal. And have often believed the term 'horse' doesn't apply to that intelligent war-beast… to have him bear you, is to fly.

If that does not convince you… there is the moon." from an inner pocket of his flowing silk robe Emris removed a crystal orb…perfect swirls of milky white… radiating a soft glow of its own. Both could feel slumbering power energizing the very air around it, making their flesh prickle.

"It? What? Can you use it?" Siroc asked in undisguised awe.

"I haven't…and I wouldn't within these walls… it would be dangerous. But with Chosen's help… We'll have to see. Perhaps tomorrow night, at his home in Berry…His family understands such things and we can, at least, be assured privacy there.

"Try to get some rest now Siroc… you'll need all your strength. The tea should help … I'll put a few pinched of pine essence in the fire too… I hung tapestries in here for a reason… the smell of damp stone puts me in mind of the crypts… It might be doing the same for you. The pine should mask it at least a bit… If you need anything else I'm just across the hall."

"Thank you sir…you've been very kind."

"I understand what you've been through lad I can do no less."

-----------------

Note: Yes, I know in Chameleon we found out Duval's first name I don't remember what it was though…(probably something suitably French) anyone who can guess what the 'W' is for gets a cookie. – Actually, there've been a few cameos…if anyone cares to find them. Disclaimer: I suppose I don't own them ether –sigh, well were nearing the end…2 more chapters hope no one's bored yet.


	8. Chapter 8: Return and Repose

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Disclaimer: All hail Dumas and his descendants.  
PAX young blades and the Disney version of 3 musketeers gave inspiration to this tale. There is no money in it for me, just enjoyment  
– Something I hope to share

+--------------------------------------+

-(Chapter VIII Return and Repose)-

"It was nice have met you Siroc sir." Kate curtseyed. Any you, Dart…you ought to write more often. Do take care of Papa now." She saluted the dark cavalier smartly and smiled, no word need be said between them. Cavalier's friendship with K'lyn was as old as his contention with her father. If not for Chosen's "interfering" Emris might have abandoned his unintended child when he fled the citadel. But, when it came to caring for Kate Chosen could not stand by and let Emris be 'Remiss.'

Emris she hugged expressively. "Don't worry about us papa…we'll get along fine while you're away."

"Keep him of sight." He cautioned quietly. "And do try to stay out of trouble." If the need arose the brothers of the Societatis Iesu would do all in their power protect Philippe. But barring anything extreme Kate would likely have a better chance of soothing the still skittish prince-ling.

"Of course papa, always." She smiled sweetly…his heart melted. It was difficult to deny anything to those green bright eyes. He kissed the top of her head and prepared to ride out.

"Are you sure you are well enough for the journey Aramis?" Chosen asked concerned when he noticed the other man wince as he mounted.

"'m fine" the would-be-priest snorted gruffly, too proud admit otherwise and wear his arm in a sling lashed to his side. Though his shoulder ached from being jostled…Chosen's politeness irked him more. Could it be that he'd grown to enjoy the mild hostility they'd shared for so many years?" -Puzzling

As promised, Cavaliers stallion, Charger, was the most magnificent creature the cadets had ever seen. When his rider introduced D'Artagnan and Siroc, the great beast lifted one gleaming hoof and bowed majestically. "He is not tame," The dark cavalier cautioned. "Treat him with respect if you wish to keep skin intact."

"I imagine the same can be said about you Cyclops." Emris said… Guiltily he hoped the, somewhat unkind, nickname would put he and the dark cavalier back on the same footing again.

But Chosen only said "Perhaps," with a slight smile and mounted.

o---------o

The journey was made largely in companionable silence. On the route out Siroc had been full of his thoughts now though It seemed odd not to have Ramón's idle talk to while away the miles. D'Artagnan seemed to feel the loss as well and tried to start up conversation a few times to no great success.

As far as Siroc was concerned watching Cavalier ride was an experience in itself. He used no bit and guided the powerful creature using only his knees. Charger's sinuous movements were not those of the parade ground … He was a force of nature; alert, inquisitive…a fury only one of Chosen's incontrovertible skill could mount without serious threat to life and limb.

Yet Siroc suspected that at his riders gentle urging that wild spirit would come, race, jump, fight, pull or carry with never a pause or complaint. If Chosen bid him the great beast would even consent even to bear small children with tenderness and ease.

Though he wouldn't want to think about what would happen to those same mischievous hands… should they attempt to braid flowers into flowing mane or tail. Civil certainly wasn't tame.

o------------o

Hours later Chosen left them, "This is my place." he nodded toward a two-story home with a broad porch situated between the outskirts of Berry and the great woods. If there was any doubt…there was a large paddock beside the house with five…slightly rougher versions of Charger grazing and frolicking about in the clover.

Siroc marked the place in his mind as the others said their 'goodbyes' to the dark man then they continued onward past the vineyards and into Berry proper.

Athos greeted them and fell to teasing Emris like the brother he was. "You missed another Q." He scolded playfully.

"Thank you for sending the leftovers… Kate enjoyed them immensely."

"Only Kate? Have you lost your taste old man?"

"Are you so senile need I remind you I am 1 year and 6 months younger than you?"

The two grand musketeers were joined by a third… at a glance Siroc guessed this jovial giant must be none other than the Infatigable Captain Porthos. He embraced the would-be-priest furiously causing the other to yelp in pain.

"Have you gotten yourself shot again?" Paul frowned.

"Yes – shoulder…careful." Emris gasped through grit teeth.

"You need better playmates my friend…next time come with me and I'll show you how its done. Jack, Roberts and I draw straws to decide which ship gets the pirate flag … brigadier hat or merchant plunder. I got the nicest hat this time. Next we find some pleasant little bay to play chase and broadside one another with bags of laundry… I suppose the powder burns on the clothes are pretty bad and you can't really get out the smell but it makes the cannons good and shiny.

Someone gets boarded and the other crew tries to repel boarders with practice blades and slingshot grapes…I stung Jack's smith boy Will, dead on the neck … looks just like a love-bite. He'll have a devil of a time explaining to the missus." The large man grinned like a lunatic. "Then when its over we break open the wine casks and dig in to the vittles… amiable as you please."

"Oy there, Dart!" the captain lunged suddenly and grabbed the legend's son in the crook of one meaty arm and ruffled his hair unmercifully."

"Uncle Paulie! I'm too big for that." The legend's son squealed and tried to squirm away.

"Don't look very big from where I'm standing." The giant pirate laughed.

Siroc raised an eyebrow…he could see where this was going and was not in a hurry to be introduced into this 'family reunion'…He took the opportunity to quietly slip off and find Ramón.

o------------o

The Spanish poet was not difficult to find …One need only listen for the lilt of poetry in the air. A small host lounged in the shade of a huge tree beside the shimmering waters of the bay. Young men and women both had gathered around to hear…and recite well wrought words.

Ramón had finished his latest rhapsody and another took his place. The youth carried himself like a soldier bred…but there was a timid-ness that exemplified the fact that this was clearly a venue where his authoritarian training did not apply. Siroc approached quietly and sat on the grass behind the crowd so as not to spook the youth.

"I I I only just learned to read… but I think I memorize well enough…this may do." He smiled shyly and toyed with the rust colored edge that bordered his berry blue tunic. He closed his eyes and began…

"Where war and wrack and wonder, by shifts have sojourned there.

And bliss by turns with plunder in that lands lot had to share.

As it fashioned featly in tale of derring-do, and liked in measures mete by letters tried and true.

Happiest of mortal kind, Our Count noblest famed of will: you would now go far to find So hearty a host on the hill."

---------

"That all I remember." He admitted quietly.

The assembly clapped cheerfully and one of several other militaristic youths grinned widely. "Good on ya, Ax…make us Rust look right fine!"

Ramón cheered. "Maravilloso, Very well done."

The 'warrior bard' Ax only blushed and sat down again

Ramón caught sight of Siroc finally "Ahh you are returned to us at last…" he smiled. "I do hope you didn't mind my staying behind to pursue my own adventures for a time?"

"Of course not …though you were missed I see you have been busy." The inventor smiled.

"Friend Siroc… let me introduce you to the newly formed Poetic and Balladeer Society of Berry.

"Well met all." Siroc smiled and moved to sit closer to Ramon. The Spaniard turned his attention once more to the group … "Who would like to go next?" he asked.

"I've got one" a stunning blond smiled.

"Athos' daughter" the Spaniard whispered to Siroc and nodded approvingly.

By way of preface she said "Its called Dove of Morning by Emris de Ruse for his lady Shelly"

"When first ray of morning light,

Ignites the flame and banishes night

Upon sorrel hill 'neath laded vine,

With thee alone I respite find.

Dove of morning; climb the heights.

Embrace unfettered freedom's flight.

Thy song doth bloom, gentle soul's delight

My dreams they pale within thy sight

Can I touch you, make you mine?

Oh please my dove I beg a sign."

As she finished the last her gaze was definitely focused on one individual in particular.

Grim. The silent boy beamed. As if there was any doubt when she had finished the youth hooked his thumbs together and made a sign of wings across his chest and bowed to the maiden. Sign asked for…sign given.

The sparkle in Ramón's eyes was eloquent …  
"Young love is Soooo beautiful."

In that pleasant company… Siroc wiled away the afternoon in ease. His Spanish friend learned long ago not to expect him to participle so Siroc need only to sit and enjoy the pleasant breeze. This was all well and good as his mind was fully occupied with what was to happen this evening. Truth to tell, he was more than a little anxious to see how (and if) the matter would resolve itself.

As dusk fell, and the town watch changed, some young people drifted away and others came…(D'Artagnan included) bringing with them picnic stuffs to share with all assembled.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------


	9. Chapter 9: Resolution

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Disclaimer: All hail Dumas and his descendants.  
PAX young blades and the Disney version of 3 musketeers gave inspiration to this tale. There is no money in it for me, just enjoyment  
– Something I hope to share

+--------------------------------------+

-(Chapter IX Resolution)-

Siroc slept past his sleeping companions and out into the clear moonless night. The town was sleeping but the guard was vigilant as ever. As he descended the marble stair of the Mansion de le Fére a shadow detached itself from the greater dark.

"Welcome cousin… Do you know the way?" the black clothed figure asked. His presence said more 'you don't need to go alone…I've been this way before.'

"I travel along the main road and to the right…it's a narrow path through the vineyard but its one of the largest building in the town I think I can find it." Siroc smiled recognizing Sable, the ballista builder.

Sable nodded "You'll be fine I think."

Siroc was surprised how much comfort he took from so simple a sentiment… As before, the other's words held more meaning than they at first seemed – He wondered idly if all Chosen's 'lads' conversed in so cryptic a manor.

"I'll be fine." Siroc thought_. He hadn't been 'fine' in so very long. He hid it well enough most of the time…He'd been educated agonizingly to do so. Still it seemed Damocles alone could comprehend the true way of things. All it took was the master's call and his well ordered world would tumble around his ears…Siroc existed with the reality that when the call came he'd come crawling back to the darkness like the dog he was made to be…with his own hands he would fasten the collar around his neck… else the red haze would descend quicker and retake his mind … his screams would long resound before the darkness swallowed him. There was no help for it; _At least none till now.

Did he dare hope things could change? Siroc wondered as he made his way through the slumbering streets. He saw a light gleamed dully from the porch guiding him both literally and figuratively through the dark night. Following that steady beam He didn't fear to leave the broad road and make his way through the Vine arbors to the Chosen's door.

Emris awaited him and was quick to offered a cup of Tea; very like that he'd given the night before. Siroc was grateful for it instantly soothed his nervous stomach.

Chosen made brief introduction of "My lads Archer, Forrester, Lance and 'My lady' Athos' sister… Kel. The dark man said her name breathlessly as if it was a syllable both strange and wondrous to him. Siroc smiled in acknowledgement…he need not be Ramón in order to know that the dangerous man was well and truly in love.

Emris took charge then, setting his empty teacup aside. Chosen and I have been speaking quite a bit about what we mean to do this eve. It seems… from what little we know that you are something between the two of us. Chosen as I have said is a weapon. I am more of a tool. If we knew a bit more of you we could perhaps be more specific with our help.

'_There it was'. _The blond youth swayed a bit on his feet and Chosen guided him deftly to sit on the couch and they joined him in the small sitting room by the fire. The other residents of the house made themselves scarce so the three could speak in confidence.

"He, he calls he his pet." Siroc whispered unable to look at anything but his scuffed boots and the well-made rug beneath them.

"I studied your texts Emris – that is how I recognized your writing. Most I was made to memorize. If my master has a problem, I find the answer." He sighed. "Sometimes, I am the answer. You said he couldn't create…that it was a failing of the dark art. I can. Not life of course, but I AM an inventor. He needs a weapon, or tool, I am compelled to craft it…or die trying. But he never instructed me in the dark ways: The ways that do not conform to the laws of science and nature. That would be giving power to one unworthy…I am but a slave." He felt such helplessness…such shame.

"It is all right." Emris whispered placing one hand on the blond boy's shoulder and squeezing gently.

Siroc still couldn't take his eyes of the floor. "He let me go, I must be… I'm a spy…I am to get the musketeer to trust me them inform on them. When he calls me back I must obey.

Aramis was not at all surprised by the admission. "So were we both…though I didn't know it in the beginning. It appears that even with the obelisk at his command there is nothing your master has done that ours did not first conceive. Things are not as dire as we feared."

Chosen cleared his throat "I think that dark force keeps its secrets well. Mazarin has yet to unlock them. We must prevent that if we are able." Both the young inventor and the would-be-priest agreed silently.

"It is too bright in here." Chosen frowned

The statement puzzled Siroc and he finally looked up. Though the fire blazed merrily in the hearth its tentative light was hardly enough to read by. "Too bright?" he wondered.

"My lads and I were called into being in the home cavern beneath the citadel. It was many months before we saw the sun… Our dark vision is unnaturally keen. Watching you, as you made your way here, it seems you share that trait, while Emris who had a more conventional upbringing, before he was turned, does not.

I would not subject you to the dark of our cellar… Though it seems homey enough for us when we need…care. You, I think, should be outside…beneath the stars. My lads will see to it none of the night watch draws near…besides which, It is my opinion power tends to flow more freely in the open.

"I bow to your knowledge on that account Chosen… Though I can think of no place more fitting for our business than the cathedral of the night."

o------------o

'A nest,' that was the best word Siroc had to describe the place: A secluded hollow of moss and pine needles by a stream. It was peaceful here… certainly someplace he would retire naturally during daylight if he wanted to be alone with his notebook and his thoughts. At night there was a mystique of its own that fairly whispered of the haunt of wild beasts… or lovers?

Siroc felt safe … and that he expected had been Chosen's intention. He nestled comfortably atop a fur coverlet Chosen had brought and breathed in the scent of pine. Emris knelt nearby… Siroc saw him cross himself before uncovering the orb.

"Unlike the obelisk, which tends to corrupt all it touches, the orb is merely a channel. It focuses power and can direct it to a given purpose." Chosen explained softly … his voice, Siroc noted, didn't seem as horse when he spoke quietly. At a normal volume it always possessed the raw quality of someone who had been speaking… or screaming, for a long time. Siroc sensed that this, as much as his general bearing and aura of dangerousness, spoke of his place as his Master's Chosen.

These two understood… they really understood…  
and they want to help -- Siroc smiled.

The 'business' was begun before the young inventor was fully aware if it. Aramis…leaned in and marked his forehead with oil then, looking up at the stars, the priest-that-was began to chant softly. Not the harsh foreign words of the robed shadows in Mazarin's tabernacle but soft soothing Latin. It was a language the inventor could read with greater facility than he comprehended the spoken word.

Still, He believed he could grasp the general essence and courage filled him. The orb was nothing but a channel Chosen had said …now he began to understand the origin and nature of the power Aramis had access to. The man he thought of, as master, had never been God. Siroc found himself following along in faltering whisper.

To you O' Lord I lift up this soul

In you I trust O my God

Do not let him be put to shame

nore let the enemy triumph anymore over him.

No one whose hope is in you will ever be put to shame

But they will be put to shame

who are treacherous without excuse

This one is greatly lonely sore afflicted

The trouble of his heart was multiplied

Free him from anguish

Guard his life and rescue him

Let him take refuge in you

With integrity and uprightness protect him because he has hope in none but you.

The glow of the orb intensified shedding its comforting warmth round about them. Siroc felt the energy dance lightly across his skin. "Amazing" he breathed. It was if the stars in the heavens descended to dance round them in iridescent sparks. This was contrary to the laws of nature but for the first time this did not terrify the practical inventor. There were greater laws at work here.

At some point he must have been carried off by sleep. He dreamed not of the darkness and pain of the red mist but of swirling brightness and peace.

The two who stood as witness didn't really know what to expect… Neither had any direct experience with the power of the obelisk. The dark power Aramis had only sensed flared to life. Sick violet flames licked hungrily at the helpless youth leaving his blouse nothing but ash. Angry runes burned against the boy's pallid flesh: But that that dark power could not touch him. The light of the orb surged out surrounded inert form and just as a fire in a sealed jar quickly exhausts itself so too those uncanny sigils sputtered and burnt themselves out.

------------------------

And last: Chapter 10 …Epilogue.


	10. Chapter 10: Beginnings and Endings

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Disclaimer: All hail Dumas and his descendants.  
PAX young blades and the Disney version of 3 musketeers gave inspiration to this tale. There is no money in it for me, just enjoyment  
– Something I hope to share

+--------------------------------------+

-(Chapter X Beginnings and Endings)-

Siroc woke to the first flush of dawn… Aramis still knelt beside him, eyes closed in prayer. The dark Chosen stood several steps away, meditating he supposed, in his own way -- with arms crossed upon his chest.

The young inventor arched his back and stretched. He couldn't at first bring himself to believe anything had changed. Perhaps he dreamed the feeling of calm – the vision of light.

"D…Did it work?" he asked.

"I should think so." Aramis smiled. "The real test will be next time Mazarin has the urge to summon you. I was on a regular schedule so I could make my excuses and not simply have to disappear. I imagine you do not have that luxury."

Siroc shook his head 'no' and shivered recalling the sharp pain and overwhelming sense of fear that sent him scuttling mindlessly back to his master's side. Even now he could hardly imagine being able to resist that call. Aramis seemed almost able to read his thoughts.

"Try not to be alone when the call comes. You will likely still feel the pull, possibly severely. Habit is difficult to change but you will no longer be compelled to obey. When I was set free I saw the lies for what they were and was able to choose my own path. It will likely be the same for you."

Chosen nodded in agreement "Our situation was illustrated very clearly by the writer called Plato in an allegory called "The cave…Are you familiar with it?" He asked.

"I'm surprised you are." Emris shot back but Chosen ignored him as the question had clearly been directed at Siroc.

The young man nodded absently …Classical literature wasn't one of the most popular courses among the Musketeer but since he'd tested out of basic reading and writing Captain Duval signed him up for it. Still it was difficult to recall the specifics and how they related to his particular situation. He made a mental note to re-read that section of Plato's Republic when time allowed.

Chosen looked satisfied with his nod so he continued. "I suppose for us it's more truth than allegory. We were called into being in darkness…all we knew was shadow. Now we have come into in the light it's natural to see things differently. Learn from the mistakes that got Plato's prisoner killed. Firstly you need never go back…if you choose to do so – Do not expect to be well received.

Remember the chains that once bound you. Do not go alone …take stout companions raised in the light. Go prepared…Go armed, and take many torches to illumine the way. Those of the dark fear the light. You are free. Choose to live free from this day on." Chosen explained.

The blunt warrior's knowledge and eloquence took Emris by surprise yet again. Still the effect was somewhat spoiled by Chosen's concluding remark. "And if they try to take you back by force…then, feel free to beat the living tar out of them."

Siroc's mind struggled to grasp what Cavalier said; he sensed it was vital. Still there was something that weighed heavily on his heart. "How can I be free when I still don't know what …my past…? In my mind everything before the red mist is still lost in darkness." Siroc frowned in confusion.

"You thought this would change?" Chosen shook his head sadly. My master realized the value in the Tabla-Rasa approach. It is far easier to begin with a malleable mind than deal with intransigent subject with all manor of bad habits (like Remiss here.) It would have been well documented in his research. For me and mine… our lives began… as yours did when we were called into being from the abyss… you call the red haze. For me and mine there is nothing before we woke to life.

My lady knew the boy taken from Berry and brought to the citadel. She has told me about him…Ford de la Roche…at some length. I am his flesh, but I am not he. His story has no more meaning to me than any history I have read in a book.

I must be content when she says that he would have been proud of the man I've become… a better man… she seems to think, than he could have become on his own. I have no opinion on the matter... I have learned to accept that it is not my fault he is no more.

"But… who…Am I?" The boy bit his lip uncertainly…and shivered. He crossed his arms and noticing his chest was bear.

"I was under the impression you were Siroc." Aramis said softly.

"An inventor, or so you said" Chosen said seeing where the other was taking this and understanding the need.

"I musketeer cadet of some promise… else Duval wouldn't have sent you here." The would be priest nodded

"A stout friend and blade-brother to the poet Ramón and second-generation scoundrel, D'Artagnan." The dark Cavalier nodded.

"Other answers will come… perhaps you may discover someone who remembers the child you were… but do let the possibility become obsession." Aramis warned,

"You DO know who you are. Should you ever loose sight of the fact we will gladly remind you. For you ARE part of our family now." Chosen smiled.

… Irregular though it is." Emris added.

It wasn't what Siroc had anticipated … but it was enough He decided finally and smiled. "So are you my uncles now? He asked.

I guess you ARE the first of a new generation…you may call us what you will. I trust you will not begrudge me if I hope we won't be getting any more scions through Mazarin." Emris smiled. "The family of Richelieu's experiments is entirely too extensive after all.

"How 'extensive' actually." Siroc wondered aloud.

"Protector was the first to call me brother…She is my keeper and my friend. Master's heir, According to the Kings writ we are first and foremost in her care.

You've met my four Black Guard: Archer, Forester, Lance and Sable. There are three more; Shoal, Torrent and Rivere but they were given into Gift's keeping. Gift was created to be my chief Rival to goad me and keep me sharp…but we have come to an accord I name him brother so my guard is not divided.

Our little brother Gryphon the Master gave then lost but we have found him where he rides. His place established among the gypsies and there he dwells.

Cousins we have many… imperfect castoffs of the Master's plan scattered abroad. Amber, Tan, Violet, Jade, Rust, Red and lastly the nameless ones in white…" Chosen finished reciting what he recognized as his family tree.

Siroc understood little but tried to recall each cryptic phrase in case he should have need of them later. A family of whatever composition was a valuable thing.

"What of him?" the inventor asked nodding to Aramis.

I suppose I might-as-well accept Remiss may be a brother too." …Chosen began with a tired sigh -- then grinned playfully, -- a disconcerting sight. "But only by half."

"As If I'd want to be called your brother?" Remiss snorted but the thought made him smile.

"Don't go thinking I extend such relations to Athos ether he thinks my taking Lady as my own makes me his brother-in-law and that is bad enough… that lout Porthos claims the same…on virtue of his sister, Sweet-Marie, having mated our Gryphon. He's far too loud to be any relation of ours...If there is one thing all the Master shaped share is our reserved nature."

"Ah, I think you just enjoy being more than a little uncanny. You wear inscrutability like a cloak" Emris chuckled.

"Perhaps." The dark one smiled crookedly. "At Least I don't play at being normal"

"Who's playing?" Emris scoffed "I AM normal."

Chosen gave him a look that said quite eloquently 'sure you are.'

o----------o

The sun rose and it promised to be a beautiful day. The three walked together to the Mansion de le Fére where breakfast was bring served in the communal dining hall to any who wished to partake. Ramón was complaining about having nothing better than tea to drink and D'Artagnan was for once not trying to stop someone from telling a story about his father. Count Athos was regaling the assembled throng with a story that cast the man who many called legend in a less-then-stellar light.

"D'Artagnan rode into town on a yellow horse… It was the most sorry…swayed back excuse for…a beast of burden I ever did see – he was the most arrogant…self-important…Gascon any of us had ever imagined. Before the day was half over he'd offended and managed to challenge all three of us to duels.

……

And so he is down on one knee looking into her eyes and he says "As morning hues of sun swept fire caress your poisoned face … I swear if he hadn't given it up right then and kissed her she would have smacked him." Aramis laughed.

……

"Ah yes, that was a most spectacular hangover" Captain Porthos smiled. "Ears ringing mostly the next day … At least till the cannon fire started – nothing will sober a man quite like cannon fire… and you can quote me on that.

……

"Every sell sword, bounty hunter and guard between **Calais**and the capital hot on our heals… and HE wants to drive the carriage!" Athos threw his hands up in a gesture of disbelief.

……

"And we were pinned down behind a low hill…

And so I gave him that look" Athos said and mock glared at the crowd " Then I took a deep breath and said…"

Everyone at the in the room joined in gleefully repeating what was to the proud people of Berry a patent phrase: "Go now or I'll shoot you myself!"

"And the legend ran off like a scared rabbit" The Count finished exuberantly.

Siroc, along with the rest… though he was one of the few who had never heard this particular version of the story before…His mood had been steadily improving since he woke this morning. He'd enjoyed the playful rivalry between Chosen and Emris, and now this.

The wall surrounding his heart was breached. He drank in the exuberant joy of the assembled crowd like a man famished… it welled up within him and he had no choice but let it out in genuine … whole-hearted… soul cleansing laughter.

HE WAS FREE

--------------------o

Note: well that's it… hope you enjoyed it. Thanks so much for the comments… If you're only finding this story now after I've completed it please feel free to comment anyway. I appreciate plot bunnies and if something catches my fancy I'm apt to run with it. It has been fun.

I'm now working on a tale taking place sometime after this one I call it 'crisis point' As I don't get many reviews at this site I'll likely only post it at the unofficial young blades If site you want it here too SAY SO. Thanks.


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